Goodnight, My Angel - Georgeotown Book IV - 5. GMA V

The late afternoon train was crowded, every seat on the Acela Express leaving Union Station occupied on the Friday before Christmas. Loosened ties and kicked-off high heels suggested business travelers escaping the nation’s capital. Sprinkled amongst them, revelers in casual attire hinted at tourists embarking on holiday travel. Without doubt, the raucous knot of nine men and one woman boarding together belonged to the latter.

Taisha Abelló, the lone female in the party, stood in the aisle after her companions seated themselves. Hands on hips and a sculpted eyebrow raised halfway up her forehead, she swiveled her head to encompass her fellow holidaymakers. Even though she was a foot shorter than her husband Rod, her presence was larger-than-life at times like this. “I’ll have your attention now, boys.”

The emphasis on the last word earned her catcalls, while Rod grasped her hand and attempted to pull her onto the empty seat beside him. “Siddown, babe. People are staring. Don’t embarrass me.”

“You unhand me this minute, Rodney Sebastián Abelló, or so help me god…” The implied threat sufficed to make the twenty-something man release her. “This is exactly what I wanted to talk about. Respect. I ain’t your ho, and you ain’t my pimp. So you better stop talking to me as if I was.”

“Yeah! You tell ’im, sister. That white boy better learn how to treat a black woman right.” The other African-American in the group leaned over offering a fist to bump.

“Shut it, Thiago. Just ’cause we have similar skin color doesn’t mean you get a pass.”

“Damn! I guess we know who runs things at your house, cuz.” The youngest member in the motley crew stared at Rod while shaking his head.

“You too, Ritchie. Pipe down or I’ll have your dads ground you until you’re ready to leave for college.” Taisha did not appear ready to brook interruptions. The teen stared at his sneakers while his companions chuckled, and a few other passengers smirked. “Anyway, as I started to say, y’all better behave. Until we get to New York, I’m the only woman with you, and I expect you to be respectful. No testosterone-fueled hijinks allowed.”

Carson Sawyer grasped the knit cap he wore, stuck it between his legs, and shook the mass of brown curls atop his head. He turned to the muscular blond man in the adjacent seat, and elbowed him to get his attention. “Is she always this bossy? I’ve never noticed before.”

“Keep it down, man. We don’t want to attract her attention.” Tanix Janda turned his head and stole a peek at the woman. “I think she’s missing her former partner in crime. With Thiago’s ex-girlfriend out of the picture, Taisha has to deal with us alone. Hey, Harley, what the heck you reading that’s keeping you so quiet?”

Harley Wilkinson’s head snapped upward at the sound of his name. Smiling, he turned his tablet so the others could see; the screen displayed technical drawings with a column of text running alongside. “It’s an article on how to deal with oil leaks on HD motorcycles.”

“Dude, your vaunted Harley-Davidson bikes leak oil? That’s it. If I ever replace my little scooter, I’m getting myself a Honda.”

“Over my dead body! Friends don’t let friends ride rice burners. Anyway, this isn’t for current production vehicles. It’s for bikes built in the 1970s. Quality was real low back then. You see, AMF—that’s the company with the bowling alleys—bought HD in 1969. They slashed the work force looking for savings and quality suffered. They had their fingers in a lot of different businesses so…”

Owen leaned closer to CJ and whispered. “Mate, Tank should have known better than to get Harley started. He’s gonna forget the article he was reading and talk non-stop all the way to New York.”

“Betcha after he gets done, if Tank ever decides to get a real motorcycle, he wouldn’t dream of buying anything but a Harley.” CJ’s smile became a permanent fixture the moment he awoke that morning.

The planning for his eighteenth birthday celebration in Colorado was easy compared to this one. Three years before, his fathers shouldered most of the burden. This time around, he and Owen managed the entire operation. And that was what it resembled: a military operation. Friends traveling from several locations at different times staying in different places. Six of the guests were New Yorkers which eased some of the lodging issues, but their apartment was not large enough to accommodate all the others.

The cabin swaying as the train sped along the tracks might have lulled CJ to sleep another time, but adrenalin coursed through his body keeping him alert. He found it difficult to sit still and remain quiet while everyone around him carried on. When his phone and Rod’s chimed at the same time, he assumed it was from one of the Chicago guys. “It’s Randy. Flights out of O’Hare are delayed due to weather. He’ll text again when they’re ready to leave.” He exchanged nods with his cousin confirming they had received the same message.

Randall Abelló, his husband, Tyler Scott, and their foster son, Silas Washington originally expected to land around the same time the train arrived in Manhattan. The delay meant they might miss the evening’s gathering. Owen glanced at the encroaching darkness outside for a moment; a light rain fell and water rivulets streaked across the windowpane. The weather forecast called for the rain to become snow near midnight. “Should we call or e-mail the hotel to let them know of the delay?”

“Nah, the rooms were marked for late arrival. Since they already dinged my Amex for the entire weekend, they wouldn’t dare give the rooms away. We’d sue the pants off Marriot for ruining my birthday. And causing me mental anguish, pain, and suffering.”

CJ and Owen debated where to put all the guests while planning the celebration; they settled on the Marriot-affiliated Moxy Hotel at Times Square. The budget-priced property marketed itself to the millennial generation. It offered smaller rooms with fewer amenities while providing multiple public spaces with instant access to cyberspace.

“Mate, you’re so full of shit your green eyes are now brown. You’d have to find yourself a good lawyer if you wanted to sue.” Owen displayed a masterful command of sarcasm.

“Hush! They’re singing.”

Unsure who had spoken, CJ stared at Owen who shrugged. Their section of the car had quieted and a soft tune emanated from where Chipper sat:

“I've seen all the movie stars in their fancy cars and their limousines
Been high in the Rockies, under the evergreens
I know what I'm needin', and I don't want to waste more time
I'm in a New York state of mind.

It was so easy living…”

“LOUDER!”

The shout came from someone toward the front of the car, not anyone in their group. Owen’s jaw dropped; he and CJ shook their heads at the same time. The smiles affixed to their faces since prior to boarding grew. “Bloody hell! Is he going to serenade us the rest of the way?”

“He does and he gets first place in the birthday gift contest. Perfect song. Billy Joel’s ‘New York State of Mind.’ Dad plays his stuff almost as much as Springsteen or Buffett.”

Someone pulled Chipper out of his seat and prodded him to stand in the middle of the aisle. The performer in him did not seem to mind. He raised his voice’s volume and spun around looking at all passengers. Some were not paying attention, lost in whatever they were listening to through their earbuds. Others slept right through the performance, while the remainder were transfixed. He finished with his eyes closed for a fraction of a second, before his eyelids popped open when the applause began. He was getting a standing ovation on a moving train.

“Bravo!”

“Bruh, that was awesome.”

“More!”

“Damn, cuz. Why can’t you be as talented as your friends?”

“Another one!”

“Bite me, cuz!”

“Encore!”

“Do Empire State, homie.”

Chipper rolled his eyes but nodded. “Okay, okay. Sorry for disturbing anyone. To those of you that don’t know me, I’m Chipper. And that guy there”—he pointed at the birthday man—“is my best friend, CJ. He turns twenty-one tomorrow and we’re all headed to Manhattan to PAAAR TY!”

The rabble-rousing worked and the cheers of strangers augmented the already high decibels of the group of friends. CJ waved and discreetly flashed his buddy the middle finger. He suspected his friends planned to embarrass him the entire weekend.

“One of my other friends suggested Alicia Keys’ ‘Empire State of Mind,’ so here it goes.

“Ooooh, New York!
Ooooh, New York!
Grew up in a town, that is famous as a place of movie scenes
Noise is always loud, there are sirens all around and the streets are mean
If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere, that's what they say
Seeing my face in lights…”

“He knows what he’s doing.” CJ cupped Owen’s ear and spoke just above a whisper. “He knows he might have trouble reaching Alicia’s high notes. He started the whole thing a lot lower.”

“I like it like this, mate.”

Applause and calls for more greeted the end of the song. Chipper nodded and raised a hand asking for silence. He pointed a finger at Thiago, motioned between himself and his friend a few times, and mouthed something CJ failed to catch.

Thiago agreed with whatever Chipper proposed. He nodded, stood, and counted down with his fingers.

“Start spreading the news,
We’re leaving today,
We want to be a part of it, New York, New York.
Our vagabond shoes, are longing to stray
And step around the heart of it…”

The ease with which the two friends played off each other while alternating lines spoke to the number of times they had done it before. Usually in private, when their group gathered for any occasion. Their other public performance had been six months before at CJ and Owen’s wedding.

“Thank you.” Chipper acknowledged the response when he and Thiago finished. “That’s it, folks. We’re done. Enjoy the ride. And if you get a chance, feel free to congratulate CJ on being legal.”

Ritchie and Silas were the only minors in the group, and the dads suggested they stay at the same place so they could keep each other company. Once the Chicago contingent landed, they headed to the Upper East Side apartment where the two teens would be sleeping. The others were already there, sipping wine and nursing beers.

“This is good, Ozzie. What is it?” Ritchie had asked for and been given a full glass; the fathers had relaxed the rules after he turned sixteen.

“The Wolftrap from South Africa. It’s their 2014 blend of three grapes: viognier, chenin blanc, and grenache blanc.”

“Is this that case we picked up last time we were in town?” CJ scrutinized one of the already empty bottles.

“Yep. I put all the bottles in the wine cooler before we left with a note not to touch them. I wasn’t sure if Doc or the dads would be here before we returned.” Owen blew on his nails and buffed them against his wool sweater. “I learned from you: proper prior planning prevents piss poor performance.”

“Not you too, homie. CJ’s been driving us crazy with that line for ages.”

“Cuz, you’ve got him well trained. Can he fetch? I want a refill.”

“Bruh, I’m hungry and I’m tired of cheese and crackers. I want real food.”

Cocktail hour came to an end minutes after. The group went out for dinner together, and afterward CJ insisted they take a ride through Central Park on hansom cabs. They went to bed a long time after midnight. CJ suspected he would have trouble getting his husband and brother up on Saturday morning. It was Silas’ first time in New York City. He made it clear he wanted to do a lot of sightseeing the next day. CJ would ensure the guy enjoyed himself.

Silas was the only person awake when CJ started the coffeemaker, and the kid’s excitement was palpable. “Morning, CJ. I thought about starting the coffee, but I wasn’t sure what time you guys would get up.”

“What the hell are you doing up so early?”

“I’ve never been to New York! I couldn’t sleep. There’s so many things I want to see and do.”

“Well, I’m sure this won’t be your last trip here. I’m warning you, you’ll never get to see everything in a couple of days. I’ve been to New York a gazillion times, and this place never ceases to surprise me. There’s always something to discover. How’d you like Central Park last night?”

“I loved it! Can’t wait to see it in daylight.” The seventeen-year-old looked at the kitchen floor as he and CJ watched the carafe fill up. “It was weird. I kept thinking how I’d never been out of my neighborhood until I met Randy and Ty. Since then, I’ve been in Washington at least once a year. I’ve been to Miami and now New York. They saved me, and opened my eyes to a world I never dreamed I could be a part of. I owe them so much I’ll never be able to repay them.”

“You already have.”

“What do you mean?” The tilted head and confused expression made CJ grin.

“You have no idea, do you?”

“Of what?”

“Of how much you’ve already done for them. My cousins were a couple of well-off party boys and they’re a pair of doting parents now. You’ve given their lives a clear purpose. They do love you, you know? I have a feeling you’ve done as much for them as they have for you.” The gentle reassurance sparked a glint in Silas’ eyes.

“I… I hope so. I love them too.”

“So, we didn’t get a chance to talk that much yesterday. What’s going on with you? You ready to graduate from high school?” CJ sipped his coffee as he sat at the opposite end of the couch from Silas.

Silas Lamont Washington, a product of Chicago’s South Side, came to Randy and Ty as an emergency foster assignment. He ended up in the hospital when his father beat him unconscious after the boy came out. The temporary placement of the African-American teen became permanent after a while, and Silas was now considered a member of the Abellós by the family.

“Oh, yeah. I can’t wait.” Silas carried CJ’s empty mug to the kitchen, refilled it, and returned with one for himself. “But what I’m looking forward to most is working at Second Line next summer. And then starting at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.”

Second Line Restoration, founded by CJ’s uncle Rico, specialized in rehabbing, and often repurposing older buildings. Their work on historic structures was a large component of the business. “You think you want to work with the family?”

“Definitely. I want to become an interior designer. Since Second Line hires outsiders to do that type of work, I could do it all from the inside. Ty and Randy already let me do some work for them now and then.” A mischievous grin revealed bright teeth. “I’ve been looking things up for the design of your basement. Wait ’til you see the preliminary sketches we brought for the wine cellar.”

Armed with a list Ritchie drew up of places he had enjoyed in the past, the two youngsters were dropped off at the hotel. Rod, Taisha, Randy, and Tyler had agreed to watch over the teens during the day.

Ajax Karalis, Marina Anastasi, and Chipper Pereira—all native New Yorkers—decided to take control of the other out-of-towners, and keep them entertained until CJ and Owen were finished with their own plans.

Ajax had worked as a doorman at the building on the corner of 76th Street and Lexington Avenue for the past few years while attending Hunter College. Having graduated days earlier, he would begin work as a graphic artist at a publishing company in January. He and Marina had known each other since childhood and been a couple since high school. Soon after meeting Chipper, they had opened up their relationship and their bed to the aspiring singer. Marina seemed to enjoy being with the two bisexual men. Chipper often stayed at their place in Queens.

“Damn, you got fat!”

Smirking, CJ strutted toward the reception desk. Placing both hands alongside the blonde owner of WOOF’s face, he smashed their lips together. “Fuck you too, Colt. I ain’t fat. Just bundled up against this cold weather. Where’s Sean?”

“That’s it? You stroll into my gym, cuss me out, and then have the nerve to ask for somebody else?” The posturing by the two men earned both of them slaps to the back of their heads by Owen.

“None of this crap this morning. I had to put up with CJ and Randy going at it last night. I’m not ready to start again. I’m still half asleep.”

Colton Mann, owner of WOOF Athletic Club in Chelsea, chuckled and hugged the visitors from Washington. “Sean’s in back. Go find him.”

Over time, CJ learned how to be gracious and accept others desire to pay for certain items, even when it was something he could afford. This weekend, he had requested no presents for his birthday as usual, but some of his friends ignored him. Sean Brody was one of those. The personal trainer arranged for a complimentary session for the couple from DC, and a revamped workout program for the coming year. Colt was also in on it, waiving the usual fee for non-members.

“Thanks, mate. I understand you and Sean not charging CJ because of his birthday, but you didn’t have to do it for me.” Owen shook hands with the man while they waited for the young woman behind the counter to finish blending the protein shakes they had ordered after finishing their workout. “We’ll see you later, okay?”

“Try and keep your husband and Sean out of trouble, Ozzie. I don’t want to have to bail them out. I’m looking forward to tonight and tomorrow night.”

CJ checked his overcoat’s inside pocket to ensure the artwork printout was still there, and patted his back pocket, checking for his phone. Over the past few weeks, he had traded e-mails with Ajax, described his idea, and asked for modifications until he had what he was looking for.

“Let’s go, guys. I just texted Cam to let him know we’re on our way.” Sean had arranged for Cameron Storm, acclaimed tattoo artist and owner of Storm Ink NYC, to do CJ’s new ink—Owen’s birthday present to his husband. “Ethan’s gonna join us. And he’s bringing us lunch.”

Ethan Isaac Feldman graduated with Owen from law school and went to work for a Manhattan firm soon after. He and Sean were an item, spent most of their free time together, but maintained separate residences. Ethan had a rocky start in his relationship with Owen and CJ, when in a drunken stupor he tried to force himself on his classmate. He apologized the following morning, was forgiven, and eventually became accepted as a member of the Squad.

“Is that him? He’s hot.” CJ whispered in Sean’s ear as soon as they walked inside the tattoo parlor. He tilted his head in the direction of the man approaching them from the back. A cigarette dangled from his lips, an arm raised in greeting. While holding a pack of Marlboro in one hand, he clicked a Zippo open and closed with the other one.

“Pig! I’m telling Ozzie you’re checking out other men.”

“I don’t care. CJ’s right. Your friend’s hot.” Owen had obviously heard the exchange and was not bothered by his husband looking.

“Sean! Dude, like, I never see you anymore. I miss partying with you.” He scanned the two men accompanying his friend and smiled. “Let’s go outside so I can have a smoke. We can talk and then we’ll get right to work.”

While CJ checked out the man about to play with his naked body. In one fast, continuous move, Cam flicked the Zippo against his thigh down then up. He brought the flame to the cigarette in his mouth, and lit it. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes, and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“The blond’s Owen, and the dark-haired one’s CJ. He’s your victim today.” Ink Storm was Sean’s immediate response when CJ asked him to suggest a place to get his birthday tattoo. Cameron Storm was a friend. He was gay, and had accumulated innumerable awards and recognition for his body art in recent years.

Cam bumped fists with both men and focused his attention on CJ. “So, like, Sean said this is your twenty-first birthday present from your husband? And like, you had a friend design what you want?”

“Yeah, I have it printed and on my phone if you want me to send it to you. I want to thank you for doing me, Cam. I know you don’t work this early in the day, and that you only give appointments to returning clients or those recommended by people you trust. I’m glad I didn’t have to wait weeks the way Sean told me most people do.”

“No prob, dude. Sean told me all about you and your other half. Like he’s known you since you were a kid. It’s cool. Let’s get back inside where it’s warm. I want you to describe what you want before you show me the drawing. Then we’ll see how close what your friend drew comes to what I’d do.”

The design did not vary much from the artist’s vision. When Ethan arrived carrying food for them, CJ was lying on his side, naked, and the outline was complete. Starting at the center of his right hip, a line curved around itself, evoking the pattern on a Nautilus shell. CJ explained it represented constant expansion and renewal, something he wanted his life to emulate.

Equal-sized squat triangles wrapped around the spiral, and twenty-one somewhat narrower ones rested in their confluence. A straight line extended out from the apex of each geometric form, unfinished if they sprouted from the tiny ones and tipped with an arrow if from the taller ones.

“The low and high shapes represent the lows and highs in life,” CJ explained when asked about the symbolism. “The arrows represent my hope of always speeding forward. Always shooting for better things to come from the depths of bad times. The unfinished lines are to show even when you have great things happen, the ending’s not always complete, and we should strive to reach even higher.”

Cam blotted surplus ink with a paper towel, and disposed of it along with his black latex gloves. “Okay, outline’s complete. Let’s eat, have a smoke, and then we’ll deal with shading.”

Since CJ was naked except for a sweatshirt, he stayed inside when Cam stepped to the sidewalk for another smoke. Ethan remained behind with him. “Are you going to add an arrow every year from now on?”

“Nah, I’ll keep it like this forever. A reminder of this weekend.”

They planned to spend the remainder of the afternoon at Sean’s apartment, but he insisted on stopping at Nasty Pig on the way. “We need to get you a jockstrap. You know everyone’s gonna want to see the tat tonight. If it was just us guys, the fact you’re going commando wouldn’t be an issue. But your cousin’s wife, Marina, and Mario’s girlfriend will be there. A jock will cover your junk, regular underwear will feel uncomfortable until it heals.”

“Fuck you, Sean. I ain’t gonna be flashing my shaved ass and irritated skin at everyone. They’ll have to settle for seeing the pictures. But I don’t mind the stop. They have a yellow-striped jock I wouldn’t mind getting.”

“No yellow.” Owen walked on the other side of Sean as they approached the establishment on 19th Street. “How often do I have to remind you I’m not into water sports?”

Sean’s sotto voce “Yet…” earned him a punch in the arm.

Walking to Colt and Tony’s place afterward, CJ complained about his skin feeling tight, but swore there was no residual pain. The cocktails they had at Sean’s place may have had something to do with it. He ended up showering there to remove remaining excess ink, and applied a thin layer of antibiotic ointment when done.

Tony buzzed the building’s downstairs gate open for them. On the third floor, the loft’s door was wide open; their host waited for them with a beer in his hand. “Welcome to New York, guys. And a happy birthday to you, CJ!” Antonio Martellini was Colt’s husband and business partner. In addition to owning WOOF, the two were also proprietors of PRIME. The bar was one of New York’s hip spots. Although marketed as a gay bar, it attracted a mixed crowd.

“Thanks, Tony.” CJ hugged the shorter man who felt solid underneath his clothes. Advantages of owning a gym, he thought. “And thanks for having us all over tonight. Wow! This place’s awesome!”

“I’d offer you a tour, but you can see just about everything from here.” The loft occupied the entire top floor of the corner building, and two sides faced streets. Those were a continuous expanse of windows allowing in a huge amount of light. Inside divisions were glass block half-walls, except for those surrounding the sleeping area.

“Is that a glass garage door?”

“You like? That’s our bedroom. We lower it and draw the curtains only if we have overnight guests. Want a private tour?” The grin on the handsome Italian-American revealed bright white, somewhat crooked teeth. “We can send Owen and Colt back to your place and we can celebrate your twenty-first in style.”

“Now you offer?” The flirting and posturing between the two men was not new. Owen rolled his eyes, slapped both on their behinds as he walked by, and headed to the main living area. CJ swore his husband could smell an open bottle of wine a mile away, and the Aussie was proving him right. One sat in a clear ice bucket atop the coffee table, with empty glasses next to it. “Too late now, bud. Why didn’t you hit on me when I was single?”

“Because you were a kid when I first met you. I’m not from Alabama.” Tony’s raucous laughter garnered the men a few glances. “Now I see more of you than I do of our mutual friend I knew before you. How’s Doc?” Tony shook his head. “Never mind… He and Dasan will be up for New Year’s. I’ll ask him myself when I see him. As for you, time to get rid of that fake ID. I won’t have to be in fear every time you walk into my bar anymore.”

The New York couple did not give CJ a choice when they told him they would host a pizza party for him the night before his birthday. After a day when the large group spread out throughout Manhattan to satisfy their diverging sightseeing and shopping interests, they now trickled in. When Brad Kennedy walked through the door, CJ sprung from the couch to embrace his friend.

“Red! The fucking military’s turning you into a stud. Doesn’t feel like you have an ounce of fat on you!” Brad was the last person to arrive in New York; his flight landed at LaGuardia Airport in the morning and he had met his brother at the hotel. The two spent the day alone after the Army Ranger texted CJ and Owen he was in town.

Brad was an inch taller than CJ and had always been lankier. The high school lacrosse player from Boston had bulked up since graduation, and muscles seemed to be stacked on muscles these days. He was in even better shape than he had been six months before at the wedding.

“Had to catch up with all you fuckers. I was always lean, but now they’ve packed some muscle on me. And let me tell you, I’m glad for it. Couldn’t carry all that equipment on my back when we go out in the field if I hadn’t bulked up.”

“What do you want to drink? We’re kinda taking it easy for now, but they have a full bar if you want something harder than beer or wine. I wanna hear what you’ve been up to.”

“Beer will do for now. But I’m warning you, I’m getting fucked up tonight. Just make sure somebody slides me into a cab when we get done.” Brad developed a fondness for alcohol while in school and it took an intervention by CJ, with support from their other friends, to get him straightened out. It did not seem a problem any longer. During the wedding weekend in June, he was the least polluted one. “And wipe that smirk of your face. I know we’re going to a gay bar, but I’m still not going home with any guy.”

“Asshole! Where’d you fly in from anyway?”

“Flight came in from Spain, but you know I can’t tell you where I’ve been. I’m headed to Fort Benning when my leave’s over. Hell, I can’t tell you anything about what I’ve been doing. Damn, CJ, our world’s so fucked up. Finish growing up so you can run for President. We need someone with your common sense as Commander in Chief.”

CJ tried to listen in to all the conversations going on around him. The groupings were loose and fluid; guests moved around the loft catching up with those they had not seen since the wedding at the beginning of summer. As darkness fell outside, Mario Martellini—Tony’s younger brother—arrived with a stack of boxes from a pizzeria in Brooklyn.

“It ain’t Chicago deep dish, but it’s pretty good.” Rod spoke to Mario and his girlfriend through a mouthful of pie. He and Taisha where about the same age as the New York couple and they gravitated towards each other.

“You better believe it, bro. New York pizza’s the best in the world.” Mario chuckled when Rod shook his head while trying to chew and swallow. “You know we’re never going to agree on this, man. Anyway, tell me about your cousin. I met him and his other half at my brother’s bar, but haven’t talked to him that much.”

CJ did not need to hear about himself; he refocused his attention on Brad instead. The hardness he noticed in his friend’s eyes the last time he saw him appeared more pronounced. The Army Ranger’s cryptic comment earlier in the evening reminded him of his own father’s reticence about discussing his own experiences in the Middle East. Brett had shared some things over the past couple of years, but there were others he refused to discuss. As CJ listened to the redhead with the crew cut talk with his brother and Thiago, he knew his friend would open up sometime in the future. He would not push for now.

“I still can’t believe you’re gonna be a father, Thiago. Are you ready?” Brad’s earlier announcement he was getting drunk rang hollow with CJ. His friend was nursing a beer as if it was the last one in the place and he was trying to prolong the enjoyment.

“Jesus, Brad, how the hell do you get ready to become a parent? It’s scary as shit! I’ll admit when Nadine told me she was pregnant, my first thought was an abortion. When she told me she was going to carry it and put the baby up for adoption, I knew it was wrong. I would forever wonder what happened to my kid.”

“Being a single father’s going to be hard.” Patrick was always the quietest one in the group and tonight was no exception. CJ thought the younger Kennedy had matured a lot during the months spent at Boston University. He appeared more self-assured, more comfortable in his own skin. “I have faith in you, though. I believe if anyone from our group’s ready to become a parent, it’s you. CJ and Ozzie are too, I think. Just know I’ll be praying for you and your son or daughter.”

“Thanks, homie. The fact I still live at home makes it easier. My mom’s ecstatic about becoming a grandmother. She and Dad have promised to help any way they can.” Thiago reached for the nearest bottle and refilled his wine glass. “Your mom still trying to get you over for dinner all the time?”

“You’d think having me in the same town would relax her, but she’s still complaining about me living in the dorms.” Patrick sighed and shook his head. “At least my stepfather has some common sense. If it wasn’t for Mac running interference, she’d be calling me a couple times a day. She keeps wanting me to move out of the dorm and back in with her!”

“But aren’t your scholarships paying for all that? It’s not like it’s costing money.”

“Good luck trying to be logical with our mother.” Brad chuckled while his brother offered a fist to bump. “She gets frantic when I can’t e-mail every week. Anyway, I don’t see a chance of Paddy listening to her. More so now that he’s seeing some guy at school.”

CJ’s ears perked up. This was a development he was unaware of. “You’re seeing somebody? Dog! How come you haven’t said anything?”

“I swear, Brad, I’m gonna kill you! I haven’t said anything because there’s nothing to tell, CJ. I’m playing intramural hockey, and I’ve gone out for coffee with one of my teammates a couple of times. We met at a gathering of the GLBT group on campus, and then again when we ended up on the same team. We’re just friends. My brother’s making it sound like more than it is.”

As the meal ended and the crowd readied to move on to the next venue, CJ and Randy walked downstairs and saw Silas and Ritchie into a cab. There was no way the teens could pull off looking old enough to walk into a bar; as part of the condition for being invited they agreed to return to the apartment on Saturday night.

“You’re good at this, CJ.” Randy turned up his jacket collar to protect against the chill, and draped an arm around his cousin. “You deal with your brother and his age well. I agree with Patrick. I think you’ll make a good parent one day.” CJ smiled but remained quiet.

Cold weather and light snow were not about to deter New Yorkers from stepping out on the Saturday before Christmas. The line behind the velvet rope stretched alongside Ninth Avenue toward the corner of Eighteenth Street. The boys were out in force, and in a festive mood. When Tony led the large party to the entrance, and ushered them inside without paying the cover charge or having to show identification, CJ caught a few of the comments made by those waiting to enter.

“Who do I have to fuck to get in like them?”

“Mary, your ass’ been tapped so much there’s nobody left in the City for you to bend over for.”

“Damn! That’s some fine looking boys in that crowd.”

“You can say that again, sister. Even the bitches look hot.”

“Isn’t that the owner leading them in? And I recognize one of the gingers. He’s the head bartender.”

“The bartender gives head?”

“Doubt it. I heard he’s all top and has a boyfriend.”

“I wouldn’t mind a threesome with him and whoever his boyfriend is.”

Inside, the coat check and both bars were busy. The place was not yet too crowded, and the group of friends was able to move with ease. Some found their way to the dance floor. As the night progressed, the club filled and became louder; a multitude of conversations warred for supremacy with the dance music blaring from the speakers. As midnight approached, Tony and Colt herded their guests towards the back section. Mario and Sean stepped behind the polished wood bar. One mixed shooters, while the other popped champagne bottle corks. A minute or two before twelve, the DJ stopped the music and announced a special guest of management had just walked in the house to celebrate his twenty-first birthday. The fib was for the benefit of any law enforcement officers who might be present. The bartenders and security personnel aimed flashlights at CJ as the crowd sang “Happy Birthday.”

The friends raised their shot glasses, and drank a toast to the birthday man. CJ was embarrassed, but already feeling the effects of alcohol, did not make a fuss about the attention. He acknowledged well-wishers comments, and posed for pictures with complete strangers. The one of him and Owen holding champagne flutes aloft would end up hanging on the wall of their apartment in Washington.